


Unwrapped

by CeruleanMusings



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst and Romance, British Sign Language, Christmas, Christmas Party, Christmas fic, Eventual Smut, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Idiots in Love, M/M, Mutual Pining, mute!Draco Malfoy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-09
Updated: 2019-07-28
Packaged: 2019-09-15 02:17:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16924659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CeruleanMusings/pseuds/CeruleanMusings
Summary: The first Christmas after the war, Theo knew he wanted to get Draco something special. It will just take him some time. Unfortunately, he doesn't have much with his father's upcoming trial poised to ruin everything.





	1. One

 

If it weren’t for the plethora of charms and incantations surrounding the castle and its vast grounds, Draco Malfoy would have flow away and never returned. Merlin, he didn’t have the desire to return in the first place but he saw that look on his mother’s face and knew that he didn’t have an option. After everything that happened, after everything they lost, a return to normalcy was the only way the Malfoy family could move forward, he knew. And that meant he had to return to Hogwarts so he could bring prestige back to the Malfoy name.

His reddened nose wrinkled. _Ha!_ Prestige wasn’t going to come running no matter how much his parents believed it, no matter what feats he accomplished in his life. Not after everything they did. Not even after the turning sides. Yes, they did the “right thing” in the end but what did that matter when all anyone paid attention to were the events leading up to the shift? What did that matter when he still had to face the scrutiny, the whispers, and the thinly veiled threats as he traversed the halls of the blasted castle?

Draco’s steel gray eyes, a fitting match to the solid gray cloudscape surrounding him, turned to said castle in the distance. His old stomping ground, a home away from home, now his own personal prison. And how fitting he was in Slytherin, kept down in the dank dark underground where he belonged. Or so the world thought. Simply because he was of age in his final year and simply because he wanted to protect his family. Something anyone else would have done in his position…right?

He sniffed; air rushed down his nose and settled into his lungs. He brushed the back of his dragonhide gloves against his nose and then removed them altogether. The bitter cold bit at his fingers and for a moment he settled himself on his broom, flexing his fingers as his legs dangled on either side. Most would find sitting thousands of feet up in the air unsettling, but not Draco. He loved being up there, away from his problems and his responsibilities. Even if only for a little while, even if he had to touch back down at some point. It was worth it to be able to spend some time weightless and free.

Curling his slender fingers around the smooth shaft of his broom, Draco leaned forward, squeezed his knees together, and took off. Air bit and pulled at his clothes but still he flew. The end of his robes flapped behind him. Tears collected in the corners of his eyes and spilled over, streaming down his face as he bobbed and waved around the tall goal posts and the spectator stands around the school pitch. The colors, once so vibrant, were muted blurs against the fading November backdrop. Much like his own life back in the first half of the year. The castle wasn’t the only thing littered with scars.

Teeth clenching, muscle in his jaw twitching, Draco flew faster and allowed his invading thoughts to be left behind as he ran through some of their old plays. He ducked and swerved, dipped down towards the pitch only to pull up in a graceful arc that put wings on his heart, forget his feet. His stomach crammed up into his throat and adrenaline rushed through his body.

It was the most alive he felt in months.

He pulled up on the broom handle, stalling in the air, higher than he sat before. Lush, rolling green grasses spread out as far as he could see, fresh and pristine before snow came in and blanketed everything. It was only a matter of time, if the cold was of any indication.

He pushed a hand through his windswept white-blond hair and blew out a breath. It burst out in front of him like a cloud, like an exhale of a dragon. He snorted. _How fitting._ Once upon a time he used to revel in his name, in the strength that came from being named “Draco” matched with the power and notoriety of “Malfoy”.

Oh, how the mighty fall.

Draco shook his head. A blast of cool air yanked at him, almost unseated him from his broomstick. His heart leaped and pounded in his chest. His fingers gripped the broomstick handle tighter. It was smooth, familiar, _his._ Not like the new wand he was saddled with. Two months in and he still didn’t have a good handle with his new wand. It was too long, too rough, too unpredictable. He wondered if the wand’s choice was a reluctant one. He’d spent two hours in the shop—not Ollivander’s, oh no, he couldn’t show his face around Diagon Alley let alone search for a wand—and he hadn’t wanted to stay any longer. Facing that measuring stick, being reminded of the difference between his first year and his last… It was a waste of time. Eventually his parents arranged for a wandmaker to come to their home and he got to choose in privacy, in the comfort of his own home, but there was nothing comfortable about it.

Steadying his broom, he brought a hand up to his neck. His fingers, cold at the tips, brushed against the warmed skin beneath his scarf where a spiderweb of scar tissue stretched up one side. No, there was nothing comfortable about any of it.

A green spark exploded like a firework in his peripheral. He glanced downwards. First, he spotted Hagrid trudging up the lawn towards the castle; no doubt to speak to Headmistress McGonagall about which trees he was to bring into the castle for Christmas that year. Second, a gaggle of students filed out past him, walking briskly with bright smiles on their faces as they headed in the direction of Hogsmeade village. Then he looked down, way down, to the once empty pitch where, down blew, now stood a solitary figure staring up at him, wand raised.

He rolled his eyes. _Couldn’t have shot that bloody spell any closer, could he?_ It would’ve done him a favor. Blowing out a breath, Draco took one last look at the expanse around him, committed it to memory, and eased his broom back to the ground. Once he got within jumping distance, he swung his leg over the broom handle and dismounted with grace and ease that he briefly allowed himself to wonder if anyone on the Quidditch team had seen his dismount and saw what they were missing.

It was a longshot, he knew, returning to the Slytherin Quidditch team but he had to try at least. He was a valuable part of their team. He could fly and he was _good_ at it, precious Potter be damned. Certainly, he was much better than the other flyers— _especially_ that twtichy sixth year lad that flew _away_ from the quaffle thrown at him as he guarded the goal posts—even Theo had said so, and getting any sort of compliment from him was like pulling teeth.

So he tried. And they said that they didn’t want anything clouding the views of their team and that he wasn’t the right “fit.”

Bloody cowards.

Tucking his broom beneath one arm, Draco extended his free arm and curled his fingers rapidly. _Give it here._ Theodore Nott dug into the bag hanging off his shoulder and removed a moleskine journal and a raven feather. Draco accepted both items, flipped open to a blank page, and quickly scribbled. He turned the book around and jabbed his quill at the words scratched not the paper with shimmering black ink:

_You have lousy aim._

Theo snorted. “You know very well, Malfoy, if I wanted to _actually_ hit you, I wouldn’t have missed.”

_Maybe you’re losing your touch._

“Maybe you haven’t had enough oxygen up there.”

Draco’s lips twitched in the corner; Theo’s face barely changed from its blank slate but Draco caught it. The brief flash of mirth in his eyes before it drowned in hazel depths. So, they were still tiptoeing then? Not that he particularly _cared_ , this was Theodore Nott afterall, but…it’s been two years.

They were cordial when they spotted each other on that familiar platform at the beginning of the year. Exchanging brief hellos and a courteous head nod. They’d shared a compartment but that was out of necessity than desire. After all, it wasn’t as if anyone else was going to sit with them or even speak to them. But, still, it surprised Draco that Theo even wanted to share the same space with him after everything that happened. And now…

He pressed his lips together. There it was again, hope. _Stupid_ hope that seemed to pop up when he didn’t need it, shined a light on everything to cast him as a fool over and over again. Especially when it came to Nott. But no more.

Draco scribbled again: _Don’t you have to brood somewhere?_

There. That was a safe question. Better than the other one that jumped to the forefront of his mind at the sight of his solitary friend. Theo merely grunted and then dug into his bag again. Draco waited, stuffing his fingers back into his dragonhide gloves as a blast of cool air ruffled their hair and added splashes of red to their pale cheeks.

When Draco lifted his eyes from his hands they rested on a crinkled, folded stark white envelope. He spied familiar emerald green ink, the slanted, spidery handwriting and—he flipped the envelope around, just to be sure—the wax seal on the back.

His breath lodged, a painful lump in his chest. His fingers curled, pressing dents and creases into the envelope. It squeaked and creaked beneath his grip. His mother barely wrote. He didn’t need to open it to know what the letter, brief in its intent, would say. It said the same thing as all the other notes he was presented with before he was whisked away to meet another one of her parents’ left-over connections.

Draco’s lips pressed into a line. How many more people were they going to take him to? He’d said in no uncertain terms that he was tired of it. Just…tired of it. Tired of the false hope, the false promises, the pity. Oh, how he _despised_ the pity. And yet his parents didn’t seem to get the hint. Desperation didn’t look good on them.

But wait…

He turned his stone-cold eyes to Theo. A few beats of silence passed between them and then Draco shook the letter, gesturing to it. “What?” Theo asked. Draco rolled his eyes. Theo knew exactly what he was getting at. Leave it to Nott to be such a git about it. “ _Relax_ , Malfoy, I didn’t read it.” Draco grunted. _Yeah right._ “S’not my fault you’re messier than a bog. It was on the floor.” Draco hummed, wracking his brain but he came up with nothing. Flying had that effect on him.

“Expecting you to return for the Malfoy Christmas Extravaganza, I reckon,” Theo supplied, lacking any sort of pity in his words, Draco noticed. No, his words and gaze were steady and sure, as always, but they carried an extra weight. It hit Draco straight in the stomach and his nerves zinged beneath the intensity behind one simple look.

It was fleeting but a strange development, that. Getting the stomach-swooping, heart-thumping sensation which only arrived whenever he flew on a broom. Until now. But he cast it aside just like he did when he first spotted Theo’s face on the train platform back in September; because it was just a flash of relief, is all. Relief at seeing a familiar face, then and now. Better Theo be the one casting spells at him than unknown assailant hiding in the shadows.

Draco dropped his hand from lightly tracing the scars on his neck once more. Theo’s eyes burned holes into him, following every stroke of his fingers. He didn’t suspect the letter was something so simple as that but that wasn’t something for Theo to know. He shifted his eyes away from Theo’s gaze and wrote on the paper again: _Any way to keep in good graces._

His nose wrinkled, and he made a face, moving to scratch out what he’d just written but Theo grabbed his hand, effectively stopping him. Instead, Draco made a sweeping gesture with his palm against the page. _Forget it._ He’d said too much, the wrong thing. What was it about Theo that allowed him to let his guard down too far?

“You could always just not go,” Theo pointed out.

Draco’s eyebrows shot upwards and he attempted a laugh; a wheeze of disbelief came out instead. Leave his mother and father alone to face a crowd without their dutiful son? Impossible! They all had roles to play; he knew his cues, knew his blocking, and knew his lines. What better way to hush the tittle-tattle and present a picture-perfect pureblood family than parading them around?

_As if I have that option._

Setting the quill down, Draco snapped the book shut, pinning the writing aid inside. End of discussion. His gesture didn’t hold the same weight as a well placed “Bugger off!” but, well, it was something. Better than nothing.

Silence stretched between them. Theo sucked in a breath. And then… “You must have practiced that one,” Theo mused aloud, “got the biting snap just right.” As he moved to put the book and quill back into his bag, his mouth pulled back into a smirk. “You know, I can even _see_ you mulling over the weight and the paper property just for that moment.”

Lids drooping, accompanied by a sneer, Draco rolled his wrist as if to say _go on, then, since you think you’re so clever._

“It’s nice to know you haven’t changed,” Theo concluded. Draco studied him, searched for the hint of spite that was ever present but his face, and words, remained clear. Haven’t changed. The thought alone would have sent him into hysterics if he could laugh properly. But he couldn’t, and he wasn’t so sure he would ever again. The Battle of Hogwarts didn’t only change the tides for his family.

He still saw the flash of green whenever he closed his eyes. He still felt the stinging, constricting jinx slamming against his chest and crawling up his neck in his haste to find his parents. He still felt the grating, scratching pain that crawled up his throat whenever he attempted to make a sound. _Haven’t changed._ His father would quite like that. If only…

“Let’s go to Hogsmeade.” Theo spoke so suddenly Draco was thrown for a second. He shook his head and blinked rapidly. “They have the holiday Butterbeer that I like.” Without waiting for a response, Theo turned on his heel and walked off.

Draco stared at his retreating back, wondering just what made Nott think that Draco would just…up and _follow_ him? Like he had no choice? Or like he knew what Draco would choose? If he chose to go to Hogsmeade it would be of his own volition! Because…he needed more ink and he needed a gift to present his mother with when he returned home. And, of course, there were the scales he needed to replace before their Potions examination.

He extended his arm— _accio satchel!_ —and curled his fingers around the strap of his bag the minute it flew into his hand from high up in the stands. He shoved his broomstick inside, thanks to an extension charm, and followed Theo. No, not follow, just...he happened to be heading in the same direction of him. He would say that to the smirk that attached itself to Theo’s face if he could speak.

They fell into step, hunkering down against the wind as they headed towards the snow-capped village in the distance. Along the way he continuously glanced at Theo out the corner of his eye, trying to make sense of him or whatever agenda he was trying to push. Theo’s face remained as blank as the untouched snow decorating the village’s rooftops. Draco pursed his lips and he shoved his mother’s letter into his bag for safe keeping. He didn’t need to open it to know what it said. But Theo, on the other hand, was a blank slate. Sometimes he wished he knew what his friend was thinking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are, my first official holiday Draco/Theo fic! I've been suffering from writer's block for a while but when I thought of this fic, inspiration has been flowing! This is going to be a short fic, maybe twelve chapters tops. There will be eventual smut, which is why this is rated M but I will mark the corresponding chapter(s) when it arises. I already have up to chapter five written so the updates should be more frequent, assuming my workload doesn't leave me exhausted. Which is possible, so head's up.
> 
> Please read and review!


	2. Two

 

_What was I thinking?_

The phrase _blooming idiot_ passed in a fleeting manner through Theo's mind, especially when yet _another_ elbow jabbed into his side as some excited third-year hurried to show his group of friends some blasted aquatic plant that lined the tables on the street.

Somehow, when advertising the Hogsmeade weekend trip, they'd forgotten to mention that the 73rd annual Magical Waterplants Festival would be occurring at the same time. Which was completely _daft_ , really. Waterplants in winter? Clearly no one had a shred of common sense around there. Certainly none of them would be able to survive the harsh winter. And yet, there wizards and witches alike stood, showing any student passersby their flora and succulentsl some magical, some ordinary.

He knew Hogsmeade would be crowded, he wasn't clueless. It was their first official weekend of the new year and everyone was chomping at the bit to get some fresh air and get away from each other. The hallways of Hogwarts were drafty, the windows rattled and shook with each blow of the wind, and a few cracked panes even emitted high pitched whistles when a good gust came by.

Theo tended to take refuge in the library during winter weather like this but, after the war, after everything, he had to make a change of plans. All of the Slytherins did. Even the little first years, which he deemed unfair. They didn't do anything wrong. They weren't even at the school or knew anything of it when they were first brought in. And here the eleven-year-olds were, being treated as if they were scums of the earth just because they wore uniforms emblazoned with green and silver. Their own Scarlett Letter, as it were.

The irony wasn't lost on him. As the cold weather settled in, the Common Room had become crowded so it was no surprise that everyone took off running the first chance they had to leave. A part of him did think of the Slytherin first years who probably wandered the castle, huddled together to keep safety in numbers. But they were well protected. There were a few sixth and seventh years that kept an eye on them. Slytherins always kept an eye on each other.

Theo glanced at Draco out the corner of his eye. At his red stained cheeks and his windswept hair and his squinting silver eyes. If anyone needed a break away from the crowds, it was him. And so, a part of him, kicked himself for bringing his longtime friend to such a crowded space. But if Draco were uncomfortable by any margin, he didn't show it. It helped, perhaps, that everyone else seemed more focused on what they were doing and what interested them more than the two blokes shuffling through the snow-lined streets with silver and green scarves hung around their necks.

Draco turned in his direction, an eyebrow lifted with a shadow of a smile on his face (or was it a trick of the sun?) Theo had seen that look too many times to not know what he was implying. _See something interesting?_ The only thing missing was the swagger and the actual vocalization of his inquiry. Otherwise, it was the same Draco he remembered running around the gardens with and talking about magic and what subject they'd concentrate on (potions, for both, of course.)

"Don't get ahead of yourself," Theo spoke aloud, shaking his head. Flakes of snow fell from his head and he brushed any remnants away. "There are far more interesting _plants_ I'd like to take a closer look at than you." He waved his arm around himself, motioning to the lined up tables and the beckoning sellers. "Look at that. Shrivelfig."

Shifting on his heel, he changed direction and stopped in front of a table lined with shrivelfig pods and bounds of gillyweed. The man behind the table—an older gentleman with a foggy eye and a golden smile—moved as if to approach him. One hard look from Theo had him mumbling about needing to work with another customer and scurrying away. He picked up a purple blob, turning over in his hand. Whatever fertilizer was used had helped the pod ripen at the right moment. The stem attached was green as could be. A good sign.

A bump to his shoulder tore his eyes away from the plant. His eyes locked with Draco's curious stare before it was cast downward. Theo followed and spotted him holding out his notebook once again. Theo reached out for it. His fingers barely brushed against the surface of it when it was knocked out of Draco's hand. It landed in the snow, pages facing downwards. Theo's arm jerked forward from the brush of a heavy shoulder and Draco stumbled back from a push to the arm.

"Watch it!" Theo immediately barked, his eyes narrowing on a Gryffindor seventh year. Some bloke from that Weasley girl's year.

He grinned and walked backwards, keeping up the swagger in his pace. "Watch yourself, Nott. Don't you have some grass to hide in?"

"Clever. Took a lot of effort to rub together your two brain cells, did it?" Theo immediately shot back, his grip tightening on the shrivelfig.

The Gryffindor boy laughed. "Get over yourself. You think the rest of us will forget what your kind did?" He jerked his chin in Draco's direction. "Surprised they let traitors like him back. They should keep you in the cells where you belong."

Fire flickering in his stomach, Theo started forward, hand going straight for his wand when a tight grip on the sleeve of his robes stopped him. He whipped his head around, his glare settling on Draco's face. Draco shook his head once and mouthed words only to wince at the dry, light rasp that managed to come out of his mouth.

"Not worth it," he'd said.

It wasn't much but it did its job. Theo's shoulders lowered, his fire extinguished. Sniffing, he cast one more glance at the now retreating Gryffindor and then bent to pick up the discarded book. He shook out the journal, but the deed was done. The snow-soaked pages sat crinkled and wavy and the ink sat inside, smudged and bleeding from the excess water. Suer, a simple drying charm would set everything back to normal, but that wasn't the point.

"Git," Theo muttered. He pressed the book together and squeezed, as if that would push out any of the water in it. "Should've let me get him. Would've fired off a good stinging hex. Might have fixed his face. Maybe then even his mother'd love 'im. Look less like a troll."

He held the book out to Draco but he didn't take it right away. He merely stared back at him. Theo's fingers twitched by his sides and his toes wiggled in his shoes beneath the steel gaze. Much as he did in his youth, Theo wondered just what kind of magic Draco possessed to unsettle him with just one look. Grimacing, Theo shoved the journal into Draco's chest and then turned back to the seller who stood nearby, staring at him. He bristled. What was with everyone today? First Draco, now him. "Oi, you see somethin' interesting?" As the words left his mouth, he made a face, because there was nothing worse than emulating Draco's dramatics, especially at a time like this. He dug into his pocket and retrieved a few galleons, of which he shoved into the man's hand.

"You've made a good choice, lad," the man said, hastily scooping the golden coins into his shaking, bandage covered hands.

Theo held his tongue, deciding not to make a comment about how some of these people were selling what were very obviously _not_ water plants, and shoved the pod into his bag. He knew his plants. He didn't need to be told he made a good choice. He didn't skimp on the quality of the items he was after, not when they were going to be used for something important.

"Come on," Theo said brusquely, moving away from the table. He squared his shoulders and lifted his head, pushing through the crowd, daring them with a sneer to say something about it. He didn't wait to see if Draco was following him; he needed a Butterbeer and he needed it _now._

Truth be told, he had something of a sweet tooth. Some his age may choose to go for a hard hitter, such as mead or Firewhisky, but he liked the smooth, thick taste of a Butterbeer. Madam Rosmerta made a peppermint variation during the holidays, among others, but peppermint was his go-to choice. Something about the cooling affects combined with the alcohol content, though little, calmed his mind and his nerves. And with a large set of eyes on him at any given minute, he needed a reprieve.

The Three Broomsticks was packed, unsurprisingly, but it didn't slow Theo down as he strode through the door. He kept his chin up and his eyes on his destination when all sound in the pub seemed to stop altogether at the sight of the two by the door. Draco, an expert at playing a part, hardened his face as Theo knew he would.

It wasn't until they approached the lone table in the back of the pub did Draco allow his mask to crack. Theo slid into his seat, with a brief lift of his chin in greeting to the two other occupants. He dropped his bag between his feet, glanced around the pub, and then settled, stretching out his long limbs.

"Took your sweet time, Nott," Blaise commented, the rim of a chilled Butterbeer held by his mouth. "Time is money, as they say."

"Come off it, Zabini. I got him here, didn't I?" Theo ignored the withering look Draco shot his way. So what if Draco heard him? No skin off his nose. He got what he wanted in the end. He took a long swig of his own butterbeer. It swirled a white, frothy color rather than its amber cousin but he closed his eyes at the cooling sensation that slid down his throat.

Draco could be angry as he wanted; getting him away from the castle was for his own good. For _all_ their good. After finding the letter amongst his things that were thrown out of his trunk in his haste to get his proper flying attire int their shared dormitory, Theo knew some plan had to be put into action. Before he did something stupid like dive-bombing straight into the ground. As much as seeing a Draco-sized hole with a tell-talle calling card of a Sleekeazy smudge left behind would amuse him.

"Draco, darling, come sit," Pansy said, patting the empty seat next to her. Draco dropped down into his seat, a very uncouth action that had once been groomed out of him, Theo knew, and accepted the Butterbeer Pansy had pushed towards him. He didn't move to drink it, nor did he stop her from running her fingers through his unkempt white-blond fringe. Theo's eye's followed her fingers until she spoke again. "Don't be mad at Theodore"—she ignored the grunt that slipped out of said friend across the table—"we all needed a break."

Draco's lip twitched. His fingers drummed against the table top and his eyes darted around. Theo knew what he was doing because he was trained to do it himself. Their fathers learned from the same place, it wasn't long before they were being taught tricks of the trade. Draco took the bait, Theo managed to escape. But some of the lessons still stuck: casing a location, checking for every exit, studying faces and body language to quickly deem threats and allies. Even in Hogsmeade, in the resulting climate, anything and everything could be a threat.

Still, beneath Pansy's touches and cooing, Draco's shoulders relaxed and he pulled his butterbeer closer to himself. The bags under his eyes appeared to lift. The dark circles lightened and he looked far less tired than he had been of late. Theo hummed. Draco had conceded far faster than he had anticipated; after all the holly-jolly atmosphere with sparkling lights, holly decorations, and the soft hum of Yuletide wrock music was enough to have even him on edge.

But the Three Broomsticks was neutral ground and the Slytherins didn't have much of it anymore so they could take what they could get. And, on top of that, Theo needed Draco to be distracted. Perhaps he should have attended the festival at a better hour but, well, Draco pushed his hand by going for a flight sooner than he had anticipated. No matter, his plans were still intact. Plus, he got Parkinson off his back so that was a win-win.

He tucked the bag between his feet further beneath his seat and tapped his mug against Blaise's glass bottle. _Cheers._ Soon enough all this would be worth it, and, maybe, Draco would be able to move on like the rest of the world wanted to.

Not that Theo cared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here's chapter two. I couldn't wait to get this up, so, here we are! It appears Theo has a plan and getting Draco out so he had a cover for attending the festival is part of it. What do you think his plan is?
> 
> Please read and review!


	3. Three

When they returned to the Slytherin Common Room a few hours later, Draco stopped in his tracks at the obscene sight laid out in front of him. It was almost as if Christmastime had thrown up all over their cozy lounge. Strings of garland ran along the room and surrounded the hearth of their fireplace, a tree had been erected in the corner and ornaments had already been strung up on them, flashing the names of the house residents every few seconds.  Stockings, somehow magically attached to the walls, hung along the perimeter, also with their names attached to them. Everywhere he looked he spotted silver and gold baubles and knick-knacks, reflecting the emerald green flames that flickered in the hearth, keeping the second and third years that lay on the stone floor nearby warm as they studied and laughed.

His nose wrinkled in disdain. Whether it was pointed at the decorations or at the laughing, chatting students he wasn’t sure. Perhaps both. They didn’t know how good they had it. Being so young that they still carried excitement and wide-eyed wonder for being in such a magical space, even after all that happened.

Of course, there were a few changes. The students were pulled every now and then to be spoken with by Madam Pomfrey. “Just in case” Headmistress McGonagall had said during her announcements of the new school year. It was a somber affair; the ceiling reflected the thick layer of loss in the atmosphere on first of September by magically projecting a large, dark cloud rather than the colorful night sky Draco was enchanted by when he first set foot in Hogwarts. Professors patrolled the hallways more often than usual between classes; Filch was more than happy to have Ms. Norris creeping along the halls for extra rounds. Heads of houses would come sweeping by their tables during breakfast and supper, checking in on their students. For the young students, it was just an addition to their schooling. For the rest of them, it was their childhoods officially being laid to rest.

Speaking of rest, Draco wouldn’t mind heading straight to his dormitory and sleeping off the rest of December. If only he could find a Sleeping Draught strong enough to get him through the month. It was nice sitting in the Three Broomsticks with Theo, Pansy, and Blaise. It felt like old times. But even as he talked—well, _listened_ —with the others, it was as if he inserted himself into a scene he didn’t belong.

The brief lull in conversation that settled over the common room when its occupants spied Draco and his friends entering ended and the lively conversations started up once more. It didn’t bother him; he was used to it by now. Much like he was used to the feeling of being watched as he moved between classes or studied in the library or lounged out by the Black Lake. Honestly, they looked at him as if a parade of goblins in tutus were prancing about as he passed. He wasn’t a zoo exhibit.

“This is what you want to see, isn’t it?” Draco wished he could say. Wished he could raise the sleeve of his shirt and flash the Dark Mark that forever lay etched into his skin. “Want a closer look? Go on! I dare you!” Oh, how he wished he could show them just what he had gone through to prove that he could join the ranks of being a Death Eater. The pain, the labor, the stress. Maybe then they’d get it. Maybe when they saw the after effects of all the attempts to remove the mark would they finally understand his own private war.

He headed for his dormitory in a brusque manner. The lights and the cheer, less than a light in the dark where more like a thorn in his side. His swift footfalls bounced along the short corridor and, before long, he was back in his room. He paused by his trunk, seeing the lifted lid and the haphazardly shifted books and trinkets inside. Twisting his mouth to the side, he put his quidditch gear into it and pulled out his books and rolls of parchment. May as well get some homework done while it was quiet.

Alchemy was a class he looked forward to. N.E.W.T. levels were his saving grace. Not many people passed potions to get as far as they did so the class was mainly Slytherins, to Slughorn’s delight he supposed. Somehow a few Hufflepuffs managed to pass the examinations but they paid him no mind. Perhaps they were still wary of him. Or maybe they were just smart enough to leave him alone. He’d had his fair share of reports in the Daily Prophet.

It was headlining news when Lucius was brought in for trials, and his name was thrust back into the spotlight when Narcissa had been brought onto the stand. He’d wished he had been left out of it. The days leading up to her own time on the stand left her as a former version of his mum. So poised was she but, in the end, she was human. And life took its toll on her as well. She couldn’t hide everything behind lipsticks and designer robes.

He shook his head, blew out a breath, and went back to his essay about creating a tonic that would aid in healing of the mind, rather than the “easy” topic of Nicholas Flammel’s work. Reading into the Philosopher’s Stone and the Elixir of Life wasn’t exactly appealing when, turns out, it sat right under his nose the whole time.

His quill scratched against the paper as he wrote and wrote, pausing briefly only to use a siphoning spell to backtrack and change his sentence structure. It put his mind at ease, focusing on one thing at a time, something in front of him rather than the inevitable appointments that his mother had set up for him. Everyone coped in their own ways, after all, even if he had a different idea of it.

It was only when the door to the dormitory burst open did he glance at his pocketwatch hanging from his four-poster bed. He’d been writing for hours. He rolled up his two feet of parchment and set it along with his books as Theo landed haphazardly on his bed. Draco immediately tossed a piece of parchment to him as he used his toes to kick off his shoes.

Theo picked the scrap up off the floor and unfolded it. “’You set me up’,” he read aloud and then pushed a breath out his nose. “It was for your own good.” He removed the scarf dangling from the crook of his arm and let it fall in a heap by the floor. Draco tossed another bit of parchment at him. “’Who are you to decide that for me’?” Theo scrunched it up in his fist and pushed a hand through his hair. “Blimey, get over yourself. Even Slughorn noticed the Malfoy-sized shape in the arm chair. Trapping yourself in isn’t helping matters.”

Draco reached for another piece of parchment, ready to write exactly where Theo could shove his opinions and his “help” but then stopped and set his parchment and quill down. Theo’s eyebrows lifted, waiting, but Draco held up his hands. _End of discussion_. Who was he to say what Draco did or didn’t need? Who was he, Theodore Nott, thinking they were on the same plane and that he knew Draco at all?

“You’re gonna do that again, then?” At Theo’s question Draco gave him a look, eyelids scrunched, eyebrows furrowed. Theo scoffed and scratched behind his ear. “No, go ahead, it’s what you do best. Can’t break tradition at this point, can you?”

Draco rolled his eyes and waved a hand, brushing away Theo’s words. Who was being dramatic? And since when was Draco’s business his own. Though he tried to turn away a part of him became far more curious. What was that supposed to mean? Can’t break tradition? What had he done to Nott? Absolutely nothing as far as he could think back. They hadn’t properly spoken to each other since before sixth year. This was simply Nott taking all his anger out on the world, as he always did. So what else was new?

“All this must be easy for you,” Theo continued, bitterness dripping from his words. Draco tensed. “What, with your father getting off and all. What do you have to be upset about?”

Flames burst within him, a roaring wildfire that rage and lit up his nerves. He jumped to his feet, his mouth twisting back into an angry sneer, ready to shout and put Theo down but nothing came out except for ragged rasps. Growling, Draco turned and struck one of the posters of his bed. _Easy_ for him? _I can’t bloody speak!_ he wished to yell into Theo’s face, but he couldn’t. And yet Theo thought he had it _easy_?

With an angry wave of his hand, his quill and abandoned piece of parchment rose and scribbled until it hovered in font of Theo’s face. Where was a Howler when he needed one? Oh well, the read aloud enchantment would work just as well, even if it didn’t have the booming voice he wanted attached:

A tinny voice read off the page: “Sod off! You don’t know anything about what happened!”

“I know! That’s the bloody problem!” Theo shot back.

“What are you on about?”

“You hid yourself away sixth year. When everything was going on. I…” His words trailed off and Theo pressed his lips together.

Draco’s nostrils flared as he pushed a breath out his nose. _That’s_ what this was all about? He’d been so indebted to Lord Voldemort at the time, given tasks that grew in scale the more he completely to prove his loyalty. To prove his worth. To protect his parents. To _be_ someone. His own person, more than just a Malfoy.

Before he knew it, the world was crashing down on him and he couldn’t find a way out of the darkness. It wasn’t a weight he’d wish upon anyone; he’d sooner rather suffer the Dementor’s Kiss than have to shoulder that burden ever again. But that was the thing, that was his choice. Theo had made his own. They drew their lines in the sand. He couldn’t _possibly_ be angry about that.

“What are you even bothering with me for, then? My father sold yours out!” the next piece of parchment spat in Theo’s face.

“Trust me, I’m trying to figure that out myself,” Theo shot back. He batted the parchment out of the way and Draco’s body jolted as if he had been struck by lightning.

When had they gotten so close? Draco could count every hair in Theo’s thick eyelashes if he wanted to. They stood so close their toes brushed against each other’s and Draco felt heat radiating off Theo’s body. He cleared his throat and took a step backwards. The cold chill in the dungeons replaced the warmth that Theo exuded and the thought of stepping back just for the warmth settled in her mind for a fleeting moment and then he pushed it aside. Now was certainly _not_ the time to entertain whatever it was he seemed to be feeling any time he stood near Theo.

“And will you _stop it_ with the parchment?” Theo continued. “Your mum hired a sign-language professor. Why don’t you use it?”

Draco pressed his lips together. Theo stared at him and Draco watched as the realization settled into his eyes. He’d never liked those lessons. That old, curmudgeon his mother had hired constantly slapped at his hands when he didn’t get the figurations right on the first try. By the time the lessons were over the back of his hands were blazing red and he had a strong desire to throttle the man. So, he studied and learned the rest on his own.

“It would be easier,” Theo added.

Easy, huh? Smirking, Draco extended his middle fingers in Theo’s direction. Easier than that? Theo pushed Draco’s hands away. Besides, he preferred paper or parchment as his alternative. There was a spell he could use to write in the air but, then, everyone would be able to read what he wrote.

And then everyone would know. He much preferred that the other students thought he was just quiet this year. Perhaps even fear him. Anything that would get them to stay out of his space and leave him alone. He gave off the air that he was focused this year, which he was; he wanted the marks to pass and not ever have to come back. The less everyone knew, the better.

Draco’s quill scuttled across parchment once more: “It would be easier if we could use Legilimency “

“ _No_ ,” Theo said, before the sentence had even finished being read aloud. His jaw clenched and his fingers twitched by his sides. It wasn’t the first time he’d brought up learning Legilimency; he’d broached the topic when Theo first figured out that Draco couldn’t speak after having spent an extended amount of time in St. Mungo’s. He’d shot down the idea then but he was more vehement about it now. Which only left Draco to wonder…

“What’s the matter, Nott? Scared I’ll find out your deep, dark secrets?”


	4. Four

In a word? Yes.

He kept his cards close to his face for a reason. He didn’t like people trying to figure him out. He didn’t like people trying to change him. People were only put in his life for him to decide how useful they were.

Unsurprisingly, most weren’t.

Solitude didn’t pepper him with inane questions, force him to listen to “fun facts” that were in no way, shape, or form _fun_ , nor did it allow him to have to sit back and care about other people. The less he cared, the easier it was to move through his life.

And therein lay his newest problem.

But he’d never experienced a problem that he hadn’t been able to fix. So, he found himself up earlier than most every morning, even on the weekends. He liked the slow speed at which the castle seemed to move when no one else was awake. Even the ghosts appeared to be moving at an idler pace, rather than popping out of walls and the floor to give the students quite a fright. The slow falling snowflakes outside added to the ambiance and he took in every moment he could before the riff-raff awoke and filled the castle with noise.

His Ancient Studies class had been cancelled that morning, so it gave him an extra free period away from…well, everything. After his little… _discussion_ with Draco a week ago, the two kept their greetings to polite formalities. It was sixth year all over again and that was perfectly fine with him. At least now he wasn’t being hounded with the idea of learning Legilimency again. Yes, on one hand it would be easier to learn the magical skill, but he’d only heard of it being used by malicious people for malicious purposes. He wanted no part in that.

Besides, he was working on a different solution. One that learning Legilimency and allowing Draco into his mind would ruin. Because then he’d have to also learn Occlumency, which didn’t sound that hard by comparison—especially for him, his top marks in classes being proof of that—but, considering he didn’t like people getting too close on principal, that was too much effort for something he could do on his own.

Theo ambled into the library and nodded in greeting at Irma Pince. He’d never had a problem with her, to be frank. Probably because he kept to himself, didn’t make much noise, and actually got his work done. Speaking of which, his eyes scanned the rows and rows of bookshelves and sections until he found whom he’d been looking for at a table by one of the large windows. It cast bright white natural light into the dreary and mote-filled library and illuminated her lustrous blond hair.

Ahh, yes, he knew here was a reason he sought out Daphne Greengrass. Not only was she one of his brighter classmates, she certainly wasn’t hard to look at. Which only made him going to her for a favor that much easier. Plus, she wasn’t the sort to hold it over his head. She was getting something out of it as much as he was. Even after all these years.

“Theodore,” she greeted him with a dazzling smile as he sat down. His name came out like a purr. He made a face at the name but let it slide. What could he say? She had a way of making it not sound like the worst thing in the world. “You didn’t keep me waiting.”

“You only need to be jinxed once to learn that lesson,” Theo replied, setting his bag on the tabletop. He was careful not to disturb her stack of books. She had a way of arranging them that he didn’t dare touch. She was a beauty to the eyes, but she had a wicked fire within that made her a particularly fearful duelist.

“You learn fast,” she commented.

“You sound surprised.”

“I haven’t forgotten the speed at which you learn, my dear,” Daphne said with a coquettish smile, “you’ve never failed to keep me satisfied.”

Theo’s lip quirked in the corner. “Until now.”

“Oh, no, this still satisfies me, if only to stoke my ego,” She set her quill down and placed her chin on her laced fingers. Her shiny lips pulled even further back, revealing her teeth in a very cat-caught-the-mouse way.

If it were anyone but Daphne Greengrass, Theo would be on high alert. But he’d learned her nuances long ago, many when he was learning the planes and curves of her body, and so he allowed himself to relax around her. He hadn’t regretted it so far. Well, okay, he had brief glimmers of regret when she looked at him like _that_. “How’re you holding up?”

He grunted and tapped his index finger against the table. “Am I supposed to be broken up about this? Malfoy can’t see three inches past his nose. Not unless Potter’s involved.” He nearly spat the name.

 _Potter_. How was it possible that _one kid_ could fuck up all their lives just from _breathing_? Had he had a time turner, and they weren’t illegal, he’d go back and pull his eleven-year-old self from Hogwarts so as not to have to torture himself with Potter’s antics for the next seven years.

Honestly! Was it _so hard_ to go one year without causing some sort of trouble? Just one? Theo nearly clicked his heels in the air when he heard that Harry wasn’t returning to finish his leftover studies. Hell, he even _smiled_ at the news. Because then, _finally_ , he could get the education he so rightfully deserved and worked hard for. Let Potter terrorize the rest of London if he so well pleased.

Of course, that all came back to kick him in the arse in a spectacular fashion. Potter couldn’t just stay away, could he? Yes, perhaps the Dark Lord had taken over the school but Theo wasn’t involved in those shenanigans. He kept his head down, did his work, and stayed in his room. And then the fight started.

Theo and the rest of the Slytherins were shuttled off into the dungeons, a long fall from grace for a few of the others. He was sure, amongst it all, there were smug smiles and cheers at that prospect. Slytherins trapped in the dungeons where they belonged! Rejoice! But, the one thing everyone else seemed to forget, there were a lot of Slytherins that had nothing to do with the Dark Lord, the Death Eaters, or any of that following. Himself included. And yet they were herded away like cattle, shunned to the darkness as if they were criminals just from being wrapped in silver and green.

And even worse, some of them he knew were parents of his classmates. Aunts, uncles, relatives. They were people his peers cared about…but none of that mattered, did it? Their last names were branded onto their identities and that was the only thing people chose to see. Oh well, who cared? It was no snot off Theo’s nose. He’d been looked down upon from day one. He didn’t have the most shining personality in the world, but it kept those that didn’t matter away.

His mouth turned to the side. Draco joined that group now, he supposed. Those that didn’t matter. But even as he tried to tell himself that, convince himself of the fact, he knew it wasn’t entirely true and that he was just lying to himself. Because Draco did matter. Even if Draco didn’t see it or want to accept it. Bloody stubborn git. Sixth year was supposed to be a reprieve for him, Draco’s melodramatics didn’t run rampant anymore. He was quiet, for once. But then again…he was quiet. And Theo noticed. There was no textbook that could prepare him properly for that.

Daphne lifted a perfectly sculpted eyebrow and rested her chin in her palm, drumming her fingers by her mouth. “You’re as attractive as ever,” she said.

“You say that like you’ve forgotten,” Theo replied.

“Oh, there are many things that I can’t forget about you.” She paused her tapping and sat up straight. “Which brings me to asking, why you want to continue with this with how you’ve left things between dear Malfoy.”

“ _I_ haven’t left anything in any certain way,” Theo replied, an edge to his voice. “ _He’s_ the one being so vexing.”

“You speak as if you don’t already know this about him.”

“Yeah, well…it’s a little more obvious than normal.”

“Are you sure you just don’t have a reason to pay attention to it?”

Theo pressed his lips together, sneering at the way Daphne looked at him. With raised eyebrows and a patient air that immediately put him on his guard. She wanted to talk; he supposed that was one of the few reasons they didn’t end up together in the long run. The talking. The attempts to get into his mind. She couldn’t leave well enough alone, especially when she felt that she had smelt blood. A shark, that one was. But he made sure not to leave any of himself exposed so she wouldn’t wiggle in and poke around.

“Can we just get on with this?” he asked, motioning to the books around her.

“Of course, Theodore, anything you say,” she replied. She pulled a book off the top stack and waved her hand over the cover. It snapped open, pages fluttering, before landing on an open page. “I trust that you’ve been studying.”

“Of course,” Theo said, not bothering to hide the offense wrapped around his words.

“Very well. Let’s begin.” She cleared her throat, tossed her hair behind her shoulders, and straightened her posture in her chair. She looked him in the eye, cleared her throat and signed her first question by holding her palms in towards her chest, thumbs sticking up, and then leaned forward a little while folding her palms down, curling her fingers inwards to form a thumbs up sign.

_How are you?_

Theo’s response came with smooth, fluid gestures of his hands, “I am well. It’s dreary today.” He paused a moment, hands hovering, before continuing, “I think I may go for a walk later.”

“That sounds fitting for you,” Daphne replied, her hands forming the phrase with dainty gestures. Theo pushed a breath out of his nose, his mouth quirking in the corner. Daphne continued, “It’s cold.”

“I don’t mind the cold.”

“You’re a crazy man, T-H-E-O-D-O-R-E.

He shook his head, lowering his hands briefly, before bringing them back up to continue. “The cold helps me think.”

“That explains why you’re so frigid.”

“I recall saying the same to you.”

Daphne’s mouth fell open as she let out a laugh in disbelief. Her smile returned and she gave him a pointed look as she signed with more fervor, “You are a lying man, M-R-N-O-T-T. I have not had complaints from you before.” A twinkle settled in her eye as she added, “In fact, quite a few of our dalliances left you on a first-name basis with M-E-R-L-I-N. One would think you were bedding him than me.”

“He’s not my type,” Theo replied simply.

“Though I was?” Her hands stilled after her question.

Theo’s eyebrows crinkled and he was hesitant to answer. All traces of humor had left her face and she appeared…uncertain. Which couldn’t be. Daphne Greengrass wasn’t uncertain about anything. Everything she did and everything she said had a purpose to it. She knew what she wanted out of her life, knew where she was going to end up, knew what path she had to take and where she belonged in the world. In fact, that was what attracted him to her in the first place. Certainty oozed off her like a flame; beckoning to all nearby to look at her, listen to her, watch her. And she knew it.

It wasn’t long into fifth year that their once platonic relationship took a turn and, more often than not, he took up residence in her bed. It was pure release at first; years of frustration, expectations, and pressure being shed with each entanglement. It was frenzied, carnal, feral. But then it changed, slowed down, and their entanglements became less about release and more about fulfillment.

The drapery around her bed acted as a shield, keeping them and their vulnerabilities safe in their little world. And maybe he relied on that too much, relied on her too much, especially as darkness began to settle over sixth year. One bat of her eyelashes and he was back in her bed, holding her flush against him, tracing her curves with his fingertips and adding a flush to her skin so rosy he couldn’t keep his lips off her. They had mutually agreed that it would end before seventh year, they had studies to focus on after all, and he hadn’t looked back since then. Daphne, perhaps, couldn’t let it go.

“If I had one, I suppose,” he finally replied, choosing his words carefully.

“You just said M-E-R-L-I-N wasn’t.”

“Yes, well, how many people _really_ go for someone that old?”

“I think you do have a type,” Daphne said, ignoring his question.

Theo stumbled over his fingers and let out a soft curse beneath his breath, and pushed his hand through the air, pushing his words aside. _Start over._ He stilled, thinking, and made the proper gestures to continue their conversation, though with a bit more urgency, “I think you’ve spent too much time breathing ill-brewed Amortentia fumes.”

Daphne’s eyes turned flinty and she dropped her hands, choosing to go back to speaking. Hand gestures didn’t hold a candle to the attitude that dripped off her words, “Come off it, Nott. I think you and I both know why you’re here.”

Theo gave a nonchalant shrug, switching back to speaking as well. “Oh. Haven’t you heard? Pince and I? We’ve had our own trysts in these shelves.”

“And yet she’s not the one teaching you sign language.”

“It’s a useful skill.”

“For getting Draco’s attention, no?”

Easing a breath out of his nose, Theo rested his elbows on the table, lacing his fingers together to form a table that he rested his chin on. “You’re off base.”

“Am I?”

“When I get a position in the Ministry—”

“Do you _really_ think they’re going to let you in?” Daphne mimicked his stance, squinting at him. “Theodore _Nott?_ With your father’s trial coming up in a matter of weeks, you’ll probably be able to visit, yes, but to be called on the stand. And after they drag him through the mud, do you expect them to take the chance bringing you on in the future?”

His nostrils flared. “I have nothing to do with him.”

“Bad publicity follows like dung on a shoe. They see your name, they associate it with your father, whether you’re guilty or not. You may as well get that through your head now, it will save you trouble in the future.”

“You’re such a humanitarian, Greengrass. Remind me to throw a parade in your honor.”

“Hey, I wouldn’t be doing this for anyone else. Especially if I didn’t know that this was important.”

Theo grunted. “It’s not that important, I could do without it.” He moved to take his books out of his bag, choosing his Ancient Runes book.

“Perhaps…but it’s important to dear Draco, which make sit important to you, does it not?” A growl rumbled in Theo’s throat as he propped open his book, refusing to look up at her. “I always suspected that was the reason we didn’t work out; you didn’t hold a candle for me in the right way.” He didn’t reply, choosing not to bother saying anything to her asinine assumptions and implications. “Your type is blondes, by the way,” she continued airily, reaching for her own textbooks. “But not my kind. More of the ferret-y variety.”

Uttering a heaving sigh, Theo leaned back in his chair and signed one last thing to her: “S-O-D-O-F-F.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I need more people to scream about Draco/Theo so, if you'd like, you can follow me on tumblr at [ceruleanmusings](https://ceruleanmusings.tumblr.com).


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